The Battleground
by Aku Blossom
Summary: War is a horrible thing. It gives great spoils to the victor, yet strips them of something dearest to them. Blossom has seen the eyes of war, and now seeks to regain what she knows she has lost.


_**The Battleground**_

**By Deus Ex Procella**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Powerpuff Girls or any related characters**

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The years had definitely had their way with the once vastly different leader of the Powerpuff Girls. Once upon a time, her hair reached down to the backs of her knees; now it came just to her shoulders. Once upon a time she'd have never thought of applying any colorings or changes to her hair; now a single lock of dyed pink hair hung in front of her face. She once dressed to impress people; now she merely dressed to impress herself. Granted…that wasn't a very big change, she still liked to dress nice and today was no different. If anything she was dressed better today, due to the circumstances of this particular visit to her hometown.

Now, twenty-seven years old, she's returned to her hometown to look on in awe at how it had managed to escape certain destruction. She and her sisters had left home nearly ten years ago to serve their country in the third world war, otherwise known as the _War of Meta-Humans._ Easily assumed by the name the war has come to be christened, meta-humans—those gifted with superhuman or supernatural abilities including individuals such as, but not limited to: Major Glory, Krunk, Val Halen, and the Powerpuff Girls themselves—were the prime weapon in the conflict. But the story of the third world war, is a tale for another time.

Blossom gazed half-awed and half-bemused at the scene laid before her. Standing in the most packed residential area of Townsville, a patch of grass truly captured the eye of the beholder. Moreover, it left one bewildered and filled with curiosity for what circumstances could have allowed an entire lawn, complete with matching oak trees, to escape urbanization. Even more astonishing was the tiny building occupying this oasis of the steel jungle.

Lying dead center, perfectly symmetrical to the design of the lawn and the shape of the surrounding area lay a small white building. A pointed roof covered in shiny black shingles pointed upward as if giving its message before the passerby even stepped inside. Atop the roof lay a small crucifix to further identify it as one of the smaller, more forgettable churches in Townsville. The doors seemed closed, yet in the back of her mind Blossom knew that like always they were unlocked. This particular church had nothing to steal and no one ever seemed to even notice its existence.

The church itself seemed to embody the ideology that Townsville was incarnate. The third World War ravaged and violated the weary Earth and brought it to the brink of annihilation. Yet Townsville, USA, remained completely untouched. It looked and felt like nothing Blossom had seen in her time in the military. She'd seen the ruins of New York City, the crater that was once London, and the scattered debris of Tokyo; yet a city like Townsville came out unscathed? It was not unlike this church, which still flourished and bloomed amid a sea of steel and apartment complexes that made up this section of Townsville. Still a beacon of hope to any lost souls seeking redemption. That last revelation being exactly what Blossom had come seeking.

Blossom shivered inwardly, rubbing her arms to ward away the bitter chill in the air. Winter would not descend upon the sleepy city of Townsville for some time yet, but one could feel its fingers reaching back from the depths of time, waiting to once more blanket the countryside with ice and snow. An upward glance revealed a heavy cloud coverage that choked at the sun, whittling away at its light bringing embrace and graying the skies. The scent of big city living tainted the air like a sweat soaked steel phantasm, further adding to the discomfort of the surrounding neighborhood.

Wearily she walked up to the same building that had taught her how to hope and how to have faith as a child, and taking hold of the handles sought this innocence once again. As she had suspected the doors were unlocked and swung open easily to allow her entry.

Like she remembered the small lobby was lit by comforting lamps, four at each corner of the room, which chased away the cold outside and gave off a cozy glow dipped in serenity. Blossom dragged her feet along the maroon carpeting, much like she had when she was a young child. Approaching the polished wooden desk off to the side she noticed witness pamphlets and church service plans lying neatly along the surface. Taking a service plan, she thumbed through it smiling at some things and laughing at others. A warm tingling sensation spread throughout her midsection as she read hers and her sisters' names on the prayer list.

A name caught her attention, not due to its originality or eccentricity but instead due to being written in dark red ink. The name "Dimitri Redwaters" was last on the prayer list. It was a bit odd, but other than its ink, Blossom didn't think long on it. Slipping the pamphlet into her purse—just as she had when she was a teenager still attending the morning service—she turned toward the sanctuary and stepped in, looking around in the same bewilderment she'd possessed once upon a time. It seemed no matter how old she became, something about 'God's House' excited her and made her feel like she was making a difference in her own life as great as the difference she made in the lives of others.

The high raised ceiling still appeared to go on forever, and as always the room seemed to have a slight draft. It wasn't as warm as the lobby had been, yet in its simple intricacy it brought her weary mind further out of turmoil. The maroon carpeting continued clear up to the podium and met at the back wall, behind where the choir and various bands were wont to perform. The air within the sanctuary was neither stale nor overwhelming, but instead seemed to echo the remembrance of the lilac candles she remembered watching the pastor's wife light before the morning service.

Two rows of five neatly kept pews lined the room, with a three foot walkway separating them, which led straight to the altar. Three windows lined the left and right walls, allowing the dim glow of sunlight to pour in and cast imaginative shapes upon the carpet. Blossom fondly recalled trying to guess what shapes were being made with her sisters when a cloud would pass by and interrupt the light. Finally her eyes wondered to the podium, upon which a Bible still laid, with a piano to its right and an organ to its left. Nothing had changed at all, it seemed.

Blossom's hand slid along the slick tops of the pews as she headed toward the front. She never died out of this habit, which translated itself to other media such as bus seats. Blossom came to a halt when she faintly noticed that she was, in fact, not alone in the sanctuary. Across the sanctuary, one other individual had already occupied a seat on the far right end of the first row pew.

His black hair was still neat as ever, and his skin red like crimson. He wore the same dark Santa outfit, with pink frills around his neck and at the end of the tunic, just low enough to cover his manhood. Black stiletto boots came up to just under the knees of his long legs, which crossed in front of him. He had his lobster claw hands on his lap and looked straight forward even as she approached.

"You're late, service ended six hours ago," He jibed, his falsetto the same as ever. Blossom smirked a bit and sat down about a foot from him on the pew, resting her arms on her knees to prop her head up. Casually she looked at him from the corner of her eye.

'He's always been here,' Blossom mentally commented. Ever since she began to attend church at seven years old, this abomination had occupied that exact seat for every service. Even on special days like Easter and Christmas he'd always been seated in the same place, behaving himself and causing absolutely no disruptions.

He never came in his—well what she believed to be his true guise. Instead he always feigned the form of a Dark Man. He never looked the same each visit, but Blossom saw through his explicit masquerades, seeing him for who he truly was. But why did he come at all? He was clearly the embodiment of evil itself, why would he give his time to worship of the lord?

"You seem awfully shocked to see me here," he pointed out, not a drop of malice salivating from his words. Blossom nodded and sat back in her seat. She stretched her arms out along the back of the pew and stared up at the ceiling. As she grew older, she'd attended church less and less often, until she'd almost completely fallen out of the desire, and eventually the habit. When World War III broke out, she sought him out and expected to find him behind the disaster. Searching desperately, she left no stone unturned trying to locate him during the ten years that the war had raged on. But try as she might, he never turned up. Now here he was, sitting in a sanctuary of all places!

"Why are you here?" She finally managed to ask, amazed by her own informality. Him turned and smiled at her. Blossom couldn't help smile back, deciphering no ill will behind the gesture. It was an honest expression that seemed to respect her question, no matter how severe their negative relations had been throughout her life.

"I mean…I looked for you in the worst places in the world. From Redwinters Street to what little remains of cities like Moscow, London, Tokyo, New York…why here of all places?" Him chuckled and leaned back, retaining his folded hand position and open posture.

"This is where my battle is, not out in what you humans consider the real world." Blossom raised an eyebrow, which Him noted and continued, "Of course I drop a seed or two into the mix just to spice your lives up. But what do I have to gain by taking over your world? If I so desired I could have countless times by this point and you'd never have a chance to stop me," Blossom nodded, having realized this for herself several years ago. After reflecting on their one real physical confrontation with Him—the time when he'd pulled them into a parallel universe fifty years into the future—she'd more than accepted the idea that Him was far too powerful for them to destroy, or even defeat in battle.

"But why here of all places? Why not Hell?" She asked. Him shrugged and held up a Bible, a comical grin painted on his face.

"I do so enjoy a history lesson. When you get to be my age it's one of the greatest feelings to hear about an event and nod along as you remember it for yourself," Blossom giggled and shook her head, smiling and closing her eyes.

"For the devil, you're a goofball," Him laughed and folded his hands on his lap once more.

"Evil as I am, I was once mortal. Though it wasn't in the form that you know me by, it was a reality. And although I was evil incarnate, I was still a father. I do enjoy seeing so many families and friends coming together and hiding all of their problems for just an hour or so to share a common goal. Even with all of the pain and suffering I've caused, just seeing how happy people can be when they forget about the sorrow of the world…it makes my job so much more fulfilling"

He smirked and waved his claw. "But mushy things aside…I believe you came here seeking something you lost? I won't bother you if you wish to find it for yourself," Blossom stared into space, the smile gone from her face. It soon returned as she adjusted her position and took a breath before standing once again.

"I think…I found what I was searching for." She waved and walked away, heading for the exit to the sanctuary. Him turned back to the front of the church and smiled, closing his eyes and taking in the oddly fresh air inside the sanctuary.

"Sometimes I think I'm losing my touch…but that's what I get isn't it? Being part of you always did have its drawbacks," He muttered with an amused smirk as he looked up at the crucifix on the back wall behind the podium. Him reached forward and took a hymnal, opening it and thumbing through the different songs. After all, he needed something to keep him occupied until, _that day_.


End file.
